


After Never

by annijaye



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, Explicit Language, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-01-19 11:52:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12409818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annijaye/pseuds/annijaye
Summary: A significant loss. An unbelievable gain. Oiksuga AU.





	1. Chapter One: The First Movement

**Author's Note:**

> A new one because I'm a glutton for punishment. 
> 
> Please review at your leisure!

After Never

Chapter One: The First Movement

 

Suga leaned against the door, his arms crossed about his chest, watching him as he slept, cocooned in the duvet, his dark hair mussed, and his chapped lips parted slightly as his chest rose and fell slowly. He couldn’t help but notice how the lavender around his eyes had darkened into a violent purple or how his cheeks seemed hollower, or how he had shivered against him through the night, his once, strong, muscular body now diminished and frail. He couldn’t help but notice how even though those chocolate brown eyes were less bright his smile, although ever present, didn’t quite reach those expressive orbs. He couldn’t help but notice that Daichi was fading away, second by second, breath by breath.

Suga worried his lip anxiously, his body tense and primed to move at a moment’s notice. After a fitful night of agonizing moans and bitter tears, Daichi had finally fallen asleep, his tortured body giving him a brief respite as the sun broke across the horizon, its milky light spilling into the room. Suga had stared at him for hours, his own topaz eyes ringed with faint streaks of lilac. He’d stood sentinel all night, reading by the faint light of his lamp, waiting, grateful that Daichi’s rhythmic breathing remained free of distress. Though relieved, Suga couldn’t bring himself to rest. Daichi was strong in spirit and relentlessly resilient but his body was weary. Suga didn’t want to risk sleeping in the event that his lover, his best friend took his last breath.

A mirthless smile stretched across his lips as he pushed away from the door frame, quietly approaching their bed. The book he’d tried-and failed- to read sat haphazardly on his bedside table, left open to the very page he’d last read, a bookmark holding it in place. A lone page stood still against the bookmark, hovering defiantly. Suga chuckled lowly and reached to take the book, musing of how much alike he and the page were. For as long as he could remember, he’d stood defiantly against this sickness, taunting it, daring it to make its move. But just like the bookmark, this sickness had kept him in his place, unable to turn the page and move forward. They were both static, frozen in a moment, awaiting the inevitable.

Pain laced through Suga’s chest as he focused on Daichi, silently marveling at the quiet strength he held even in sleep. Daichi had circumvented his fate numerous times before, each a harrowing, momentary victory. But a victory it had been and with every victory passed, Suga had become emboldened with the thoughts of beating this sickness at its own game. He’d spend many days and nights fighting alongside Daichi, solidifying the foundation of both his will and his mentality for the road ahead. Daichi had always been the strong one, the first one to lend a hand, the first one to offer a warm smile and kind words. But now Suga had to be strong for the both of them, strong enough to persevere, and to keep moving- even when his reason for taking that next step no longer existed.

Throughout the years, he’d become Daichi’s champion, standing by his side, holding his hand, sharing in moments of pain and despair. They shared anger, the vicious words of retribution and bitter tears shed for the shattered dreams of a future they would never have. They shared the hope and faith that another day would dawn, one with Daichi still on this side of the mortal coil. They’d shared smiles and heated gazes, kisses and laughter- so much laughter. They’d laugh at their absurd, coquettish ways, snickering at each other’s crimson blush when the other had said or done something ridiculously sappy. They reveled in the hearty, full blown laughs when surrounded by their friends. But what Suga loved the most were the quiet intimate laughs breathed between the two of them, ensconced within their own little world. They’d shared everything and that left Suga with a sense of fulfillment, one that would carry him through the dark days ahead.

At times, he found himself lacking in that strength. In quiet moments such as this one, he’d let his fears overcome him, allowing the dark, shadowy thoughts dominion, the reality of the outcome nearly choking him with tears. He never took time for granted, only cherished the stolen moments. He’d decided to forgo his senior year of college to take care of Daichi, promising his lover that he’d return to class the moment the older man had gotten better. But it was a fool’s errand; circumstance wasn’t on their side and it was well understood that Daichi was living on borrowed time. Briefly, he thought of the coming days spent alone, of the solitary hours spent reliving a life that he’d never have. It left him hollow and bereft yet he couldn’t remain in that desolate plane. He had to be strong, to live in the moment, to enjoy him, his love.

Believing that he could prolong the inevitable by living in the moment was nothing more than a flight of fancy, something to be wished upon wistfully. The reality, the harsh awakening stalked the corners of his mind, siphoning away the warmth. As prepared as Suga thought he was, he also knew that it was all folly. He grimaced at that thought; a sharp tsk escaping through the thin line of his pursed lips. The utter frivolity of his wishful thinking stoked the kindling anger and brought it to a roaring flame. Anger and despair ran in tandem these days, something he couldn’t ignore even if he tried.

A muffled groan rose from the bed capturing Suga’s attention. He waited a moment before moving not wanting to disturb him any further. Daichi’s brows pulled together as he shifted restlessly, tossing the covers away from his body. Suga kneeled on the bed and reached for him, placing the back of his hand against his forehead. He frowned and cast his gaze about the room before moving quickly off of the bed in search of the thermometer. The abrupt shift jostled Daichi, another groan erupting from his lips as he opened his eyes slowly.

“Koushi,” Daichi croaked, “what’s the matter?”

“Nothing, just looking for the thermometer,” Suga replied airily. He glanced back to see Daichi staring back at him, his once alluring brown eyes unfocused and dull. There was a hint of worry in his gaze that pulled Suga away from his current quest. He would find the thermometer later. Right now, Daichi needed him.

Suga settled beside him once more, slipping between the covers. He rested his head against Daichi’s bare chest, picking up the weak echo of his heartbeat. Koushi’s own heartbeat pounded, sounding ridiculously loud in his ear. A thread of guilt wove through him as he caressed Daichi’s clammy skin, worrying his lip in an effort to keep the tears at bay. He’d lingered between the role of caretaker and lover for too long, blurring the lines between duty and desire. He knew Daichi had a fever and he knew he should begin the familiar routine but for once, he wanted to just lie with his boyfriend and forget everything.

So, that’s exactly what he did.

And it was peaceful, almost pleasant.

They stayed like that for long moments, allowing the world to wake around them. Daichi’s heavy hand settled atop Koushi’s head, his careful touch unhurried as he gently carded his fingers through the pewter strands. In response, Koushi’s fingers traced the fading lines of Daichi’s once sculpted abs. As they held each other, they listened as the birdsong grew, watched as the sun’s rays spread outward, its invading warmth inviting. It had been a long time since they had a moment to just…be.

Naturally, it didn’t last long.

“Find someone after me,” Daichi said suddenly. His fingers stilled briefly as if waiting for the inevitable explosion. When nothing happened, he resumed his languid pace, “It is only fair, Koushi. You shouldn’t suffer just because I’m no longer around.”

“I wouldn’t be suffering,” Koushi replied quietly. He finally looked up at Daichi and saw peace in his eyes as if he’d squared with his fate. Coldness settled in the pit of his stomach as he reached to swipe at the errant strands of dampened hair that had begun to curl at the ends. “It looks like your fever is back.”

“Don’t change the subject, Koushi. I’m serious; I want you to find someone.”

“I have you,” Koushi countered weakly, “and it’s enough.” Koushi rose swiftly on the hunt for the thermometer once more. He wanted to avoid talking about the future and most certainly, he didn’t want to broach the subject of love; he couldn’t fathom allowing another’s touch, another’s kiss. He wasn’t even going to consider it. He turned his back on Daichi, more concerned with finding that damned thermometer, “If your temp is high, I think we should take a trip to the hospital.”

“And I think I’m okay, but nice job on the deflection, Suga.” A small chuckle escaped his lips before a violent cough consumed him, forcing him to push his hand against his mouth. Sputters of red spittle escaped through his fingers as Daichi coughed harder. When he pulled his hand away it was filled with blood. “Kou-Koushi…”

“You’re okay, Daichi, it’s going to be okay. We’re going.” Suga’s reassurance seemed hollow the moment the words left his lips but he remained optimistic. They’d beaten back this foe before and he wasn’t ready to concede.

Not yet.

* * *

 

Tooru flipped through the book, his brow quirked as he scanned the words before him, intent on completing his assignments before noon. He’d taken to coming to the library in lieu of studying in the flat simply because he hadn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of getting anything done because _he_ was there. It never failed that the moment he cracked open a book, Haijme was there, his mere presence counterproductive in every sense of the word. An errant smile, the faint scent of the delicious aroma of his cologne, or his very favorite, him sans shirt was nothing more than a pleasurable distraction. Instead of focusing on the books, his gaze often slid toward his husband, staring at him for long moments with all sorts of debauched ideas funneling through his mind. Instead of studying, he’d engaged him in a myriad of ways, provoking the darker haired man to act.

More than once, he’d found himself in compromising positions, the kind in which left him with a goofy smile and unable to walk straight for days after. And of course that meant that assignments would go undone, papers unwritten, and study sessions cancelled. Yet, Tooru still aced every test and made up for his lurid activities either burning the midnight oil or up at the crack of dawn- moments when the risk for interaction was practically nonexistent.

This established routine worked perfectly; Haijme worked nights and would grace the door just as daylight broke across the horizon, leaving him plenty of time to led Tooru into temptation. As unfortunate as it was, leaving home before Haijme arrived was the only way his academic career survived. Regrettably, this also meant that they spent most of their mornings apart, something that Tooru despised but was grateful for though. It gave him a chance to center himself, prepare his mind and fortitude for his studies- and ensconced himself in a neutral territory surrounded by his work with no interruptions. The end of the semester was right around the corner and a well-deserved vacation lingered on the horizon. The faint sound of the waves breaking against the shore had called to him on numerous occasions and he’d answered by diving headlong into the books.

Said books littered the table, covering every visible surface followed by several stacks of papers piled clumsily about him, effectively quarantining him away from others. His mind ran with all sorts of formulas and configurations, the words, numbers all conglomerating into an unintelligible mass of information.

He’d been at this for hours already having sacrificed their routine cup of coffee while watching the sun come up together. They gave each other just thirty minutes in the morning, thirty minutes to relate, to enjoy. Haijme was running late today and if he wanted to come back at a decent hour, he couldn’t wait for his handsome husband- a husband who had probably wasted no time cocooning himself in their plush bedding, his face a perfect picture of plaintive rest. A small smirk erupted as his thoughts turned salacious, his heart thudding against his chest as he imagined a bevy of delectable ways to wake him from his peaceful slumber.

He could be a little shit at times.

The hour chimed on the clock that was situated right outside the heavy wooden doors of the library, every ominous, echoing strike pulling him out of the ether. After the twelfth one, he stretched his arms above his head, a deep yawn escaping his parted lips as he reclined in the wooden chair, wincing at the discomfort of the blood flowing back into the unused parts of his body. He reached to slip off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, giving them a brief respite from the blending words. His arms dangled at the sides as he tilted his head upward, his eyes opening to the walls of books that surrounded him, the hushed whispers of pages turning, the complete serenity unnerving. Any other day, he’d push through this momentary stillness but today… an odd disquiet settled around him.

He was restless, more so than usual, his focus lost on the missing part of him. It wasn’t unusual for his mind to wander when studying but there was an undercurrent of apprehension that wove is way through every fiber of his being. It was as if his entire existence teetered on the precipice of oblivion waiting for that slight gust of wind to send him toppling over the edge into an unknown darkness.

As if his world would end with his next breath.

“Midterms,” he surmised succinctly as he sat up in the chair, “no need to worry.”

A flash of annoyance surfaced briefly before dying down, drowned out by the loud guitar rift of another song beginning. Resolute in his desire to finish what he started, he slipped his glasses on and adjusted his ear buds and started in again, even as the tendrils of regret began to spindle together. He was greedy for Haijme, almost desperate in his need to keep him close. Despite spending his entire life with him, Tooru relished the time spent together. Every moment spent cuddling, fighting, just existing together was one that Tooru wanted to savor, burning his scent, his strength into his very essence. He wanted to keep those memories close, a safety net for those moments in where he needed him and couldn’t have him. It showed his dependency but Haijme never complained- in fact, he got all sorts of cranky when he’d miss Tooru.

He shifted his gaze toward his travel mug, his brow furrowing deeply at his wandering musings, irritated that he couldn’t seem to surface from his muddled thoughts. Midterms were always hard but he’d never had this much of a difficult time getting back on track. It helped that this was the last one he’d ever have to suffer through. Exhaling heavily, he shook his head and leaned in closer to the book in front of him, determined to at least stick it out for another thirty minutes.

Then after that, he’d rush home. There were a few things they could get into before he had to be back on campus and every one of them sent a shiver of delight through his body. His interruption would be met with a deeply furrowed brow and a slew of slurred expletives but he could take care of that in short order- Haijme wasn’t the only one who knew the art of distraction.

He’d make it up to him…soon.

The song faded away in his ear only to be replaced by a generic ringtone. Tooru reached for the phone, his frown deepening as he read the number, hesitant to answer. Generally, he didn’t bother with unknown numbers simply because he didn’t have time to listen to the mindless drivel of a telemarketer but something told him that this time would be different.

Tooru exhaled and slid his finger across the screen. A cacophony of noise greeted his ears, the eerie howl of the sirens nearly drowning out the voice that spoke. For a moment, the bedlam increased as if whoever had called him had entered into the fray, the familiar brusque tone finally breaking through all of the chaos. He glanced around the area as a cold wave of terror flushed through his body.

The voice on the other end seemed to grow as the noise finally faded into the background and Tooru could hear the crack in the normally roughened tone. He gripped the papers that were in front of him as the tears welled, refusing to drop. This wasn’t Kyoutani. He wasn’t stumbling over his words, repeating them over and over the frustration and anguish evident in each breath.

This wasn’t happening.

Haijme was at home, wrapped up like a burrito and deep in a well-deserved sleep. He’d taken his cup of coffee solo and watched the sun rise still clad in his holster, his badge probably hanging from a chain around his neck. He was home, waiting for him.

He was…

“Did you hear me, Tooru?” Kentaro’s voice cracked as he repeated the words that would shatter an otherwise perfect life. He gripped the papers that were in front of him as the tears welled, refusing to drop.

He was…

“Where is he?”

* * *

 

Koushi sat quietly among the frenzy of the emergency room, gazing into nothingness, his mind wandering away from the hovering dread that threatened to swallow him whole. He’d been waiting for two hours, waiting, wishing, and hoping. So many memories had kept him busy, the lot of them prompting a faint smile or even a quiet chuckle. He hadn’t noticed much other than the coming and going of people, the monotony pushing him closer to the precipice of madness. He’d caught the eye of a young girl as she sat with her mother, her luminous eyes, though curious, shimmering with unspent tears. He’d smiled wider and leaned in closer, tossing a questioning glance to the little girl’s mother as he spoke to her, his calm voice betraying the frantic worry that pulsated just beneath the surface.

Glad for the distraction, he’d focused on the little girl and their conversation as they people watched, their giggles and snickers filling the looming void, holding the misery at bay. It wasn’t long before the little girl and her mother were called to the back, leaving him once more with an empty space to fill. More people cycled through, with one, a young man with short blond hair his eyes intense with desperation, had caught his attention. He’d watched as he approached the admitting nurses, catching snippets of their hushed conversation before the man stomped away, reluctantly taking a seat, cradling his head in his hands.

At that moment, he’d felt a jolt of anxiety course though his body at the young man’s dour demeanor, the tension tightening around his throat. It wasn’t enough that he was thinking the worst about Daichi, now he was projecting his worries on a stranger. Quickly shaking it off, he busied himself with his phone, checking his email, logging into his social media accounts and answering texts. He hadn’t wanted to call anyone just yet, especially if it seemed as if Daichi would pull through this.

His thoughts segued quickly from one event to the next, categorizing every second of their life spent together. There were still more that chipped away at his heart, the countless nights standing guard over Daichi, watching, and wondering if the moment had come. It was those memories that had snatched away his peace, allowing the melancholy he’d fought so hard to banish a sliver of an opening. What if today was that day, this moment the one in where he’d lose everything he’d ever wanted in life? What if the nurse returned shaking her head solemnly, her eyes telegraphing the grief of a life lost?

What if…

“Stop it, Kou,” he muttered to himself. He was psyching himself out while playing the devil’s advocate, expecting the worst but hoping for the best. He shifted in his seat and exhaled heavily, his eyes catching the digital clock that hung over the nurse’s desk. Two hours of nothing, not one word.

“Tell me where he’s at! Tell me right now, or I’m kicking the goddamned doors in!”

“Sir, please tone it down, we are in a hospital!”

“Well, do your job and tell me where he’s at!” a petulant voice responded.

“Sir, please, you can’t go back there!”

“Really…watch me.”

The flurry of excitement and movement had caught Koushi unawares and his eyes followed the man as he strode away from the desk, his expression wracked with despondency. He didn’t want to stare but he couldn’t help but notice the man as he passed, taking note of the perfectly coiffed hair and the smart white button down coupled with brown slacks. It was especially unnerving to watch the handsome man unravel, his eyes heavy with tears, the anguish echoing in every step he took. When he approached the blond, Koushi turned away, not wanting to intrude on the dire moment. As if anticipating the worst, the waiting room descended into an eerie quietness, amplifying the livid discussion between the two men. It wasn’t long before the man’s cries filled the space, pulling Koushi’s focus once more. His heart broke as the two men embraced, both of their bodies shaking as they sobbed openly.

“Family for Mr. Sawamura.”

Koushi’s heart dropped into his stomach as he stood quickly and approached the emergency bay doors, thankful for the interruption but apprehensive as to what he was walking into. He didn’t know if he could sit and bear witness to someone else’s sorrow but he also didn’t want to face his own despair. Every step he took toward the nurse was heavy laden as if he instinctively knew that the news wasn’t favorable.

Koushi gave the nurse a wan smile and followed her through the doors as a doctor hurried past them. A mournful wail shattered the silence and Koushi’s resolve. As the doors closed behind him, his heart thudded against his chest, each step taking him closer what lay ahead. 


	2. Between the Dark and the Light

_**First Day** _

 It was the silence that hurt the most, the tiniest creaks that filtered through the quaint space, the soft caress of a billowing breeze were all hallmarks of comfort for Koushi, reminders of the lackadaisical days he’d spent in Dai’s arms. Days that the sickness hadn’t intruded in their lives, moments in where they could just enjoy what life offered. Loving moments, seconds given to discovery, passion, fulfillment…

Koushi squeezed his eyes tighter, hoping that he could push back the wave of tears that threatened to burst forward. It was a battle he was losing; his eyes ached from the torrents already released, echoing the odd, unsettled hollowness that had engulfed him seconds after Daichi had taken his last breath. He turned inward, inhaling his lingering scent as he clutched the pillow closer, tighter against his body hoping-wishing- that the familiar warmth would return. That he wouldn’t open his eyes and see the darkness, its maw stretching to consume him entirely. Pushing his face into the pillow more, he wished for the memories to wilt away, taking with them the pain of loneliness that brushed its icy fingers along Koushi’s heart. He didn’t want it; he didn’t want just snippets of a life lived, of phantom peals of laughter and diminished embers of a love so strong, so fiery that its essence still hovered, seeping into his very soul.

_“Daichi,” he moaned breathlessly, “please.”_

An essence that he would feel no more, his lingering touch snatched away by fate, leaving him in this desolate space.

_His calloused hands had drifted over his sensitive skin, his touch so gentle, so alluring; Koushi bit his lip to stave a lurid moan. Outside, the familiar chatter of their schoolmates filled the air, the bracing clatter of lockers slamming, mingling perfectly with the cacophony of noise that accompanied the end of the day. Inside this place, this darkened space, he’d given over to chance, allowing this one moment of lustful inhibitions._

_“Don’t be a tease, Daichi.” _“Not teasing,” he whispered against his ear, nipping at his soft lobe, “just savoring.”_ _

__

The tightness in his throat eased as the tears began to subside, the oncoming respite a relief. The images had come in spurts, most of them a brief flash of a smile, a haunting sensation of warmth encircling briefly before dissipating. In those slight moments, he was alive again, the heaviness of grief had yet to be yoked around his neck, trudging him ever downward that spiraled abyss of pain. The sun had made its journey through the sky, encroaching on the western horizon and he’d returned home blessedly numb, his feet moving, his eyes seeing, his lungs expanding and releasing all on rote memory. He’d spent an undeterminable amount of time sitting on the couch, staring into space, thinking of nothing and everything. Hours had sped by in solitude, nothing but the gentle scrape of the huge sakura tree’s bare branches scrapping against the window served as his companion. He hadn’t felt anything; the world he knew had slid through his fingers, fingers that had held on to him tightly as he slipped away. He hadn’t even realized that he’d moved to their bedroom in an effort to relieve the heaviness that had settled about him.

He clutched the pillow tighter about him still as a lone tear escaped his eye, sliding silently down. His breath hitched as the familiar ache swelled, clutching his heart within its destructive grasp.

_“I want you to be happy, Koushi. Promise me.”_

_“I can’t.”_

_“You can. One step in front of the other, one second at a time.”_

_“Daichi…”_

_“Keep moving, Koushi.”_

Twelve hours had passed since their last words hung between them. Hours since he smiled one last time, his cracked lips thinning as he breathlessly lamented that he wouldn’t see the leaves fall this year.

_“One step in front of the other…”_

“I can’t.” His voice echoed in stark silence, tightening as the grief again took hold of his body. He sobbed openly, grasping frantically at the pillow Daichi had laid mere hours ago, desperate to hold the searing pain at bay.

It wasn’t working. The more he tried, the more he realized that he was holding on to nothing more than wisps of thoughts, of stolen moments. Those made him cry even harder, screaming into the pillow, the tendrils of despair slowly winding themselves around his entire body, forcing him to concede to its torturous power.

It’s why he hadn’t called anyone. He didn’t need prying eyes gazing at him forlornly, pitying him for his loss. He didn’t need the whispers, the assumptions or the frantic bustle of helping hands. He didn’t want anyone else in his space. He wanted what he could no longer have.

His body rocked with the totality of his sadness, his muscles taut with uneased tension, the tears streaming down his face as he flopped on his back. He still held the pillow, hugging it to his body, anchoring himself to something that would calm him.

Once the tears had subsided again, Koushi sniffled softly and inhaled letting it out slowly, his awareness returning. He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling, watching the shadows of the tree just outside the window swaying with the gathering wind. The loneliness he’d fought so hard against was surfacing and he blinked away the stray tears as they popped up, lifting his hand to wipe them away. Eventually, he had to get up, to field calls, to face the multitude of faces that had been their foundation, prepare for the onslaught of mirthless smiles and kind words. Eventually, he’d have to square with the fact that his life, as he knew it, was over.

Koushi sighed heavily and slowly released the pillow, his eyes stayed on the ceiling. The sun had finally completed its journey, its brightness snuffed out for only a time but his sun; his light had been extinguished, lost to the ether of forever.

Dread encased him, pulled him under. Empty of the warmth he’d taken for granted too many times, the love dispelled by his inability to say sorry one last time.

And he thought he’d prepared for this? Longing, grasping for something that would never return. 

Koushi closed his eyes against the turmoil, surprised that he still had tears to spare. The desolate silence was shattered by the shrill of his phone ringing, the familiar tone tearing a fresh wound in his heart. Just the thought of facing Daichi’s parents made his lip quiver, already hearing their mournful wails in his ear. They’d prepared as much as they could but Koushi- and by a measure, Daichi- knew that they were distancing themselves from this. Saving their hearts from completely shattering. They’d have no memory of the tumultuous nights, of the days watching Daichi wither away. A sliver of contempt rose within Koushi, hating that he had been the only one to witness the death of something so pure. The anger was tempered, however; he couldn’t disparage their avoidance completely. They’d fought this disease long before Koushi had entered the battle; their emotional scars ran just as deep as his own. No one would emerge from this unscathed.

Yet Daichi’s memory didn’t deserve the stain of regret. There’d been plenty of moments in where Daichi had challenged him to survive this, to survive him. Even as his strength was waning, his eyes dulling with awareness, he remained steadfast: Survive me.

It was a testament to his indomitable strength, something Koushi adored. And that was what he needed to focus on. But intentions meant nothing in the face of such a devastating loss.

“You’re a coward, Koushi Sugawara.” He massaged his eyes and released another breath, sitting up and turning his head to stare out into the inky darkness, briefly wondering how long he’d spent staring at the ceiling and decided that it didn’t matter.

The phone had stopped ringing, the mocking silence returning.

This would be his first night without him and as he walked in the darkness toward the living room, he wondered if he’d survive the cold space beside him.

A mask of indifference fell into place, demarcating the freedom Daichi’s love had provided from the duty to simply exist within this new norm.

It was heartless, he knew, but it wasn’t like he needed his heart anyway.

Daichi had taken it with him along with the desire for anything more than just breathing.

A fitting penance for daring to love, a mistake he would never make again.

* * *

 

  Hours had passed since he’d come into this room, seeking the one who held his life, his heart in his capable hands. Hours had passed since he’d found him, his body covered in blood, his eyes wide and staring into nothingness. Hours since he’d sat beside him, taking his cold clammy hand and squeezing it desperately, waiting. He hadn’t allowed them to place a shroud to cover him, forcing himself to take in the violence that had snatched him away. His eyes had grown tired from crying, his body aching from the jarring sobs that wracked him so fully the moment he’d felt Hajime fade away, the approaching doctor only confirming what he’d already known.

Hajime was dead.

And he sat beside him, waiting for oblivion, his own chocolate eyes desolate and empty, his heart filled with agony.

Waiting for someone to tell him this was a joke, waiting for Hajime sit up and laugh uproariously at his naiveté. He waited for someone to wake him from this horrific nightmare, for the sensation of his arms to encircling him within its strong embrace, his delicious scent calming his frayed nerves. He’d closed his eyes tightly as he anchored himself to the limp hand of the one he’d loved, waiting to hear the delectable rumble of his whispered voice, waiting to feel his lips glancing off the shell of his ear in an effort to lure him away from his discontent.

_“We’ll leave right after your last test.”_

_“And you’re not going to tell me exactly where we’re going?”_

Waiting…

“Tooru, it’s time to go.”

He didn’t move, his unfocused gaze remaining steadfast on the wall, his fingers tightening around Hajime’s lifeless hand. A lone tear broke free and slid down his cheek as he swallowed hard, the thick lump in his throat threatening to choke him.

_“I’d told you already. Pack lightly.”_

A gentle hand settled on his shoulder and his eyes finally slid close, the pressure allowing even more tears to fall. If he let him go, he’d shatter completely. In response, he held on tighter, the burn of the memories accosting him even as he sought their comfort.

_“Not exactly the answer I was looking for, Iwa-chan.”_

_"If I told you, it would ruin the surprise.”_

An echo of hollow laughter lingered in his ear, fading quietly into the vacuum of his reality. Tooru grimaced and inhaled sharply as Kentaro’s hand gripped his shoulder in an offering of support. He’d known what was coming; he’d been allowed more than enough time with Hajime to silently lament the loss of something so detrimental to his own life. Although he’d spent hours with the dead, it hadn’t seemed enough.

“Come on, Tooru. Let him go.” Kentaro’s broken heart was evident in his quiet tone, his words soft and meek, words that were never associated with the younger man. Tooru could feel the devastation in his touch, his reluctance to even utter the words that would forever sever the bonds forged in brotherhood. “He’s gone, Tooru.”

Seconds passed before Tooru’s grip faltered slightly, his breath hitching as he finally turned his eyes to the gurney. He’d stared at his body for long moments, his eyes roaming the expanse of his blood covered chest, the dark maroon patches spilling downward toward his waist. So much blood… yet there was no hint of pain on Hajime’s face. Passive in death, eyes had slackened, the tight wrinkles that had donned both corners now eased, his eyes hollowed, evidence that he’d been snatched away quickly.

He rose quietly and stood beside him, reaching to trace his face, his fingertips glancing over his eyebrows before drifting down to his lips. A cry of anguish left his lips as he cupped his cheek, his thumb caressing the cold flesh. Tooru allowed his grief dominion as he bent over Hajime’s prone form, his own shaking under the pressure of his sorrow.

“You didn’t suffer did you, Hajime?” he whispered brokenly against his cold flesh, “You weren’t in pain, were you?”The silence sliced through him as he continued his voice thickening with tears still left to shed, “Please tell me you didn’t suffer.”

“He didn’t,” Kentaro offered quietly. “He fought but he didn’t suffer.” He reached to clasp Tooru’s shoulder, exhaling heavily, “Tooru, we must go.”

“I know.” His voice was so thin, so transparent; it was as if it were a secret passed between lovers. “I know. It’s just… I don’t know what to do next, Kentaro. I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep going. Hajime…”

“Wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself, you know that Oikawa.”

A gentle chuckle escaped as Tooru reached to caress Hajime’s face once more, a wan smile appearing, “He was so mean and irate. If he could see me now, he’d spare no expense in kicking my ass for being so stupid.”

And he was right. Hajime had been patient with Tooru suffering through his daily bout of dramatics with slight grin even as he responded with a sharp tongue. Although irritable to a fault, there was no heat to Hajime’s censure, only mild annoyance that segued into tempered understanding. It was what Tooru loved about Hajime; his ability to balance levity with austerity, lenient in love and accepting everything Tooru was.

“But,” he continued as he traced his fingertip around Hajime’s lips, “he had an indulgent heart. Even as he chastised me, he loved me.” He bent to brush his lips against Hajime’s, struck at how cold they’d become. Rising, he turned to Kentaro, his eyes shimmering with welling tears, “I-I have to let him go, Ken.”

And Tooru finally let go. As much as it hurt, as much as he wanted to stay by his side, he knew that there was no benefit from anchoring himself to what was lost. That didn’t mean that it made it any easier to turn his back on the only love he’d ever known.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

**_Third Day_ **

And still the silence remains…

Koushi exhaled heavily, his topaz eyes lingering morosely on the plain wall before him, the cup of coffee he’d prepared almost an hour ago, remaining untouched. It was enough that he’d had the energy to even go through the process of making it, every step he took felt as if he were laden with weights, the effort to think, to do dissipating with every breath taken. The nights since losing Daichi had become his own personal Hell- the hours he’d would’ve spent in his lover’s arms were now consumed by wandering this desolate fugue state. During the day, he’d mindlessly attended to Daichi’s funeral arrangements and had been somewhat glad that his parents had decided to let him take care of everything.

At least it gave him something to do.

At least it would keep him busy, the constant motion dulling his thoughts, nullifying the absolute despair that clung to him. Fill the ravenous emptiness that grew each passing second.

It was bad enough he spent those days and nights suffering through the silence, through the longing of wanting to be held and to hold, through each agonizing heartbeat that crashed against his chest. He’d tried everything to escape this noiseless prison but no amount of music or aimless chatter would relieve his heart.

And so, he’d found himself on the third day sitting at their western style table, his eyes glazed, gazing into nothingness as he tried to down one measly cup of coffee. Eating was out of the question; the mere thought of the blonde color liquid breaching his throat made his stomach turn, his mouth watering as he closed his eyes tightly against the wave of sorrow that threaten to drown him.

He’d tried to eat the first night but the moment he’d swallowed, his stomach revolted, causing him to hurry to the bathroom before it relieved him of its contents. After that first attempt he hadn’t wanted to tempt fate again, instead resigning himself to allowing the dull hunger pangs their dominion.

The familiar roiling pulled him out of his thoughts and he cupped the mug between his hands, determined to at least take a sip. His eyes closed as he inhaled, his stomach rebelling viciously against the usually delectable aroma. He tightened his grip around the mug in an effort to bring it closer, barely noticing that the tepid liquid lacked any promise of comfort or rejuvenation.

He just needed to take this one sip.

One goddamned sip.

One. Sip.

A familiar tone sliced through the silence and his heart slammed against his chest. He gripped the mug tighter as the ringing continued unable to move a muscle. Memories flooded his mind, reminding him of the day they’d brought their phones and how instead of using a generic ring tone like he’d had, Daichi had decided on using one of his favorite songs. A tear slipped free and slowly trickled down his cheek as he stared out into the void of the kitchen, slowly losing himself to his deepening despair.

All too soon, it was quiet again and Suga exhaled dejectedly, knowing that he should’ve at least made an effort to answer. As much as he didn’t want the oppressive silence, he couldn’t bring himself to integrate into the world just yet. Even though he knew his friends would be receptive to his sorrow, he couldn’t allow them entrance into this new world of his, one in where he existed without the comfortable warmth that accompanied Daichi’s love.

He’d give it another day or so. The arrangements would be complete and he would begin receiving Daichi’s family and friends. By that time, he’d pulled himself together long enough to erect a façade that cloaked the minute cracks in his soul. Then he’d be able to face them all with a comforting smile and empty platitudes that he didn’t believe himself. Maybe they wouldn’t question the darkening circles around his eyes or the longing painted on his expression as random memories surfaced to torment him.

Maybe they would believe him if he told them that he’d be okay, that he’d been ready for this.

As if his friends wouldn’t take one look at him and call him on his bullshit.

Suga chuckled lightly and shook his head. Of course they would. He could already hear Bokuto’s boisterous voice; see the conniving machinations in his eerie eyes as he tried to pull him out of the doldrums of grief. Bo was good in that manner; if anyone, he would be the one to force the anguish into submission with his sincerity alone.

The small chuckle swiftly grew into full blown laughter, prompting Suga to place the mug down gently. He laughed until the tears surfaced and dropped, his stomach tightening from something other than repressive hunger. He laughed at the memories of Bokuto pulling him and Daichi, kicking and screaming, into one of his many adventures. Suddenly, the silence was stifling. He wanted something to fill that space.

A swift, startling knock answered his unspoken plea. He didn’t hesitate, jumping up and practically running for the door, only slowing his approach when he heard another knock, this one more forceful. He had to take a breath as came to rest just inches from the door, his hand outstretched to grasp the knob. He wanted, more than anything now, someone in his orbit, someone to commiserate in his grief. His heart raced in his chest, the familiar surge of hope filling the once desolate spaces in his heart and mind.

“You haven’t answered your phone in three days, Koushi.”

Suga smiled more, finally grasping the knob and turning it. The door opened slightly, revealing the black and grey haired man, his hazel eyes widening briefly before morphing into a sort of warmth that Suga hadn’t felt in days. There was a hint of sorrow in his gaze but Suga could tell that he was trying to level it, projecting a genuine need to protect, to comfort.

He grasped the door tightly as his eyes welled, biting his lip. It wasn’t difficult to discern that Koutarou had known. Suga shook his head as Bokuto reached to grab him, pulling him into his strong embrace. Suga inhaled deeply, catching the cozy scent of familiarity and security, finally allowing the fury of his agony to overcome him.

“Why didn’t you call, Kou?” Bokuto asked as he held him tightly. Suga’s breath hitched as he wept, his hands grappling for purchase against Bokuto’s jacket. Bokuto sighed wearily, the slight tinge of chastisement riding his words, “We decided, didn’t we? We weren’t going to let each other deal with this alone.” Suga nodded, willing for Bokuto to keep talking but disappointed when he pulled away from him. Suga kept his eyes downward, only lifting them when Bokuto slipped his finger under his chin and tugged it upward. He smiled and exhaled lightly, “Always the stubborn one.”

Suga wiped at his eyes, his lips twitching as he spoke brokenly, “Dai-chi, h-he’s g-gon-gone, Bo.”

“I know, Koushi,” Bokuto answered as he cupped Suga’s cheek gently. His thumb swiped at the failing tears, “I’m kind of hurt that you left me out of all of this. I had to hear it from shrimpy. How did he know before me?”

Suga’s brows drew inward. How did anyone find out anything?

Awareness flourished as he inhaled deeply and released it slowly. His tight circle of friends was closing in, and quickly.

“Should I be expecting the others soon?” Suga asked quietly. As soon as the words left his lips, he heard the unmistakable sound of Hinata’s voice booming through the corridor. Another recognizable voice, Tsukishma, rose in response and Suga moved around Bokuto to see them emerging, their familiar bantering soothing his battered soul.

“Yeah, you should be expecting them,” Bokuto answered softly. He grinned wider as he lifted his hand in greetings, “Mrs. Sawamura was gracious enough to ring Akaashi, who called Lev, who, of course called Hinata. The rest, as you see, is history.”

Suga cut his eyes to his friend and shook his head as the group of young men finally came to rest, numerous sets of eyes steadying on him. He couldn’t help the smile that emerged, happy that they’d come that the silence would be broken. He should’ve known he couldn’t hide from them and now that they were here, he didn’t understand why he’d even tried.

“Thank You, Bo. Thank You.”

“Nah, no thanks needed, Kou. You need us, we come.”

“Yeah, even if you didn’t necessarily call us,” Hinata interjected. A swift hand smacked the back of his head and he turned to Kageyama with a deep scowl,” Hey! I’m just saying…”

“Now’s not the time to be cute, dumbass.” Kageyama turned his attention to Suga, “You need anything?”

“Point us in the way you want us to go,” Ennoshita offered.

“Yeah, the receiving begins tomorrow,” Noya added quickly.

Suga shifted his gaze to Tsukishma and Yamaguchi as they inclined their heads slightly, then turning his attention to the dark haired man who came to stand next to Bokuto. He fidgeted uneasily, fighting the panic of seeing all of his friends- _their_ friends congregated in the narrow corridor. It was then that the reality hit and he felt himself slipping, the shadows drawing in quickly. He didn’t hear them all move as one toward him, their voices heightened in alarm. He only felt the sweet surrender of the darkness, the faint whisper of his voice in his ear.

_“It’s going to be alright…”_


	3. An Impressionable Memory

_**Fifth Day** _

_**7am** _

Tooru stared at the ceiling, clad in nothing but a pair of severe black trousers and undershirt, his chest rising and falling rhythmically as the world awoke around him, surrounding him with agonizing familiarity. The night had ended as it began; quietly, the absence of any sounds of proof of life the hallmark of what would’ve been a normal day. Any other day, he’d gotten up and showered before the sun rose, dressing at his own pace, knowing that Hajime would be just a couple hours behind him.

He’d smile as he entered the kitchen, breathing in the rich aroma of the brewing coffee, set the previous evening just before Hajime had left for his shift. Any other day, he’d penned a quick love note and stuck it on the refrigerator, promising to be home before lunch. Any other day, he’d come home to him sleeping, deciding if waking him prematurely would be worth the effort.

Any other day, he wouldn’t be faced with burying the love of his life, sealing away his heart, his happiness, his will to take the next breath.

Tooru bit his lip hard, his eyes crinkling at the corners and welling with tears as he continued to stare, nearly choking on a sob. Each second that passed, he descended further into his thoughts, reliving the minute details of their life lived so far. He wanted to force the hands of time backwards, to return to sleep only to wake slowly, knowing that at some point during the day, he’d see his beloved, to once more tell him that he loved him. He allowed that wishful thinking, the wistful thoughts pulling him back to the last time Hajime had come home before he’d left for the library. If he’d closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift, he could swear he’d hear the key jingling as it slipped into the lock, the door opening and closing softly and the dull thud of his shoes as he unlaced and slipped them off echoing through the serene quiet. If he listened closely, he’d hear him tossing his keys on the kitchen table and haphazardly flinging his jacket over the couch on his way toward the bedroom. If he took a deep breath, he could smell the aroma of the brewing coffee and if he waited, he would feel him sinking in the bed next to him, nuzzling against him in an effort to wake him gently- but not before taking a moment to simply gaze at him.

Tooru exhaled heavily and sat up quickly, his watery eyes shifting toward the closed shrine, his heart pounding against his chest. He’d erected the shrine as soon as he got home that night, electing to allow Kentaro to assist him. Kentaro had lit the incense while he placed a picture of Hajime in the shrine, tears spilling out of his eyes as he stared at it for long moments. Kentaro’s gentled touch reminded him that he had to finish, reluctantly closing the shrine and placing the white sheet over it. In a couple of days, he’d open it again, replacing the offering and lighting new incense but for the moment, he couldn’t bear the sight of it.

Tooru wiped away the tears and exhaled and moved, shifting to sit on the side of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees. What he wouldn’t give to be able to spend the day in bed, immersed in memories, to have the freedom of ignoring everything and everyone.

Every night since Hajime’s death, he’d worn his old t-shirt and sleep pants, its wear evident in the slightly frayed edges and the imprint of his ever familiar scent accosting him with every breath taken. He wanted nothing more than to forget that in a couple of hours, he’d be sitting in front of his coffin, gazing up at his photograph surrounded by flowers, and offerings, the monotone sutras filling the air. He’d had to suffer through the otsuya two nights before, watching as Hajime’s fellow officers presented their offerings, sitting in silent repose as the mourners filed in front of the coffin to light incenses and then offer their condolences in a solemn bow. Two hours of keeping his mournful wails at bay, allowing the silence of his tears to telegraph his grief.

And he’d have to suffer through it again.

After a moment, Tooru sat up fully and glanced at the clock. Two hours, only two hours separated him from forever.

He took a deep breath and released it, pushing himself up to stand. As much as he wanted to ignore this day altogether, he realized that he had to face this head on. Afterwards, he could shatter; allow the grief he’d been keeping in check for five days to finally overtake him.

He moved on rote, blindly moving toward the white button down and black suit jacket that hung on the closet. The muffled sound of pots clanging prompted him to move faster, slipping the suit jacket off and tossing it on the bed. He quickly donned the shirt, sliding the tie into place around his neck. He walked toward the mirror, buttoning each button as he stared at his reflection, taking note of his dulled eyes. Days before, they’d been ringed with a violent purple hue, evidence of his increasingly restless nights.

The floorboard creaked under his foot the sharp sound echoing in the dense silence. This was going to take getting used to, surrounded by nothing more than ambient sounds, devoid of his rich laughter and booming baritone. Tooru closed his eyes against the mounting sorrow and shook his head.

_One step at a time, Tooru._

_Just one step._

Tooru tied the tie around his neck quickly and forced a small smile, practicing for the many faces he’d see today. The smile didn’t make it to his eyes.

“Oikawa, are you alright in there?” Yahaba’s muffled voice barely registered as Tooru finished perfecting the Windsor knot. “Breakfast is almost done.”

Breakfast was not something he desired but he wasn’t going to give voice to that. Instead, he smoothed the tie down and answered, “I’m almost finished. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Okay,” Yahaba answered. A beat of silence passed before he spoke again, “Kenma and Lev will be here in about an hour. Kentaro said he’d be here in thirty.”

“All right.”

“Oikawa…”

“I said all right,” Tooru answered tightly. He closed his eyes forcefully against the building rage. He shouldn’t have lashed out at Yahaba but he couldn’t help himself. Nothing would temper the fury that swallowed him whole when he thought about the countless of others who still had their hearts beating in their chest.

Tooru exhaled and reached for the suit coat, slipping it on and buttoning it slowly. Once done, he stared a moment longer at his visage, taking in the changes, both minute and drastic, realizing that this would be the image he’d see for the rest of his life. Empty, desolate, waning warmth replaced with a cold reality.

One step.

Just one step.

*~*~*

**_9am_ **

He sat before the plate, eyeing it with equal parts of disdain and hunger, the enticing aroma wafting around him, tempting him as much as it made him nauseous. A mug, Daichi’s favorite, sat to his right, a lazy tendril of steam rising, the decadent scent of coffee mingling perfectly with the prepared breakfast. If only he’d had the appetite to enjoy the delicious offerings, if only Bokuto hadn’t wasted an entire hour in the kitchen, studiously preparing a meal that Koushi was certain he would not eat.

If only…

“It’s not going to eat itself, Kou,” Bokuto offered as he sat across from him, settling before his own plate piled high with food, taking his chopsticks in hand. Koushi looked to see him staring expectantly, his brow lifted in a silent challenge. Fortwo days, Kotaro had stayed with him, forcing him to attend to even the most basic of needs, providing him with something more than the mind numbing silence he’d otherwise had to endure. Generally, Koushi ignored him and Kotaro allowed him his space but it was comforting to know that someone was there if he’d needed a shoulder to cry on.

As it turned out, however, Koushi was all cried out. Even now as he stared morosely at the plate, the overwhelming sorrow still suffocated him but his aching eyes couldn’t- or wouldn’t- allow a release.  It was a heavy sensation, weighted down with grief that had no pathway and each breath he’d taken was one laden with such deep seated pain, he was surprised that he’d been able to move a muscle.

Koushi could feel Kotaro’s brazen gaze on him, daring him to defy.  In response, he shook his head as he pushed the plate away, keeping his own eyes averted. He no more wanted to eat than he wanted to breathe at the moment and nothing his good friend said or did would change that.

“Ya know,” Kotaro started blithely, “we’ve gone through this a million times already, Kou.” Koushi heard the chopsticks clicking together and Kotaro inhale as he shoveled the food in his mouth, chewing loudly, making an absolute event out of eating. It was annoying and brash and evidently Kotaro thought it would change his mind.

It didn’t.

Instead, Koushi pushed away from the table and started to stand.  Only Kotaro’s voice stopped him from leaving completely.

“You’re doing him a serious disservice.” Yellow- hazel eyes met topaz, each gaze lit with a certain fury as they stared down each other. Only Kotaro spoke, his voice dripping with disgust, “I’ve been with you for two days, Koushi. Two days and you’ve done the exact opposite of what Daichi would’ve wanted. You’ve barely eaten, drank even less and the way you mope around here…”

Koushi gripped the chair, the tension turning his knuckles white. How dare he…How fucking dare he cast judgement?

“I’m going to chalk this up to your idiocy, Kotaro, and forget that you even had the audacity to say such a thing.”  Koushi shook with rage, his lips thinning as he closed his eyes tightly.   It took every last fiber of his being not to swing on him to unleash all of the pent up agony that had swelled within the passing days. Instead, he took a deep breath and released it slowly as he opened his eyes, an absolutely nasty grin curving his lips, “So very bold yet such a coward. You talk about me but tell me, Kotaro, were you so cocky when Akaashi left you?” Koushi narrowed his eyes, delighting in the brief emptiness in Bokuto’s own eyes, “Now you know how that shit feels.”

The words didn’t faze Kotaro; he sneered and sat back, crossing his arms around his chest, “Ya got me there, Sugawara but _I_ did snap out of it and now, I wouldn’t trade our friendship for anything. You…you’re not honoring what the man wanted. His last words, his last thoughts, I’m sure, were that you let him go.”

“And you were there when he died, Bo? You were right there, holding his hand, watching as he struggled to take his last breath? You heard his last words; you felt the strength leaving his hand?” Koushi tossed his plate at Kotaro, barely missing his head. He was annoyed and furious, the need to strike out at something, _somebody_ burning through his body. When Kotaro stood, Koushi welcomed the blatant challenge, squaring his shoulders as he stood taller. Expending his grief with violence seemed like as good as an idea as anything else and truth be told, he’d probably feel better.  It wasn’t productive in the least bit but the ends didn’t necessarily justify the means at this point.

Kotaro merely shook his head as he stared at him, a faint smile painting his lips, “You conveniently forgot that Daichi was _our_ friend, didn’t you? We were tight, thick as thieves, _nothing_ left unsaid between us.” Kotaro took a step toward Koushi, his voice level, “And ** _you_** conveniently forgot, you ass, that he’d told all of us to look after you once he was gone, to make sure that you survived him.”

“Don’t be so sanctimonious, Bo. You weren’t here…”

“But we were here!” Kotaro bellowed angrily. Explosive emotion lit his eyes, casting an icy glare toward Koushi as he approached, reaching to grasp Koushi’s shirt to pull him closer. They were face to face, nose to nose and Koushi could feel the heat of Kotaro’s words as he continued, “We were with you every step of the way, Koushi. We suffered right along with you. We heard his pleas for you to let him go, to move on. To find a reason to live, not die with him! He never wanted you to follow him!”

“There’s nothing left for me here!” Koushi screamed as the long absent tears finally fell. He held Kotaro’s gaze steadily even as his voice crumbled, “I never wanted to survive this, to move on. When he died, he took the best part of me with him. I have nothing left!”

Kotaro let him go and turned away, his own voice softening, “You have us, you bastard. You’ve always had us.”

“It’s not enough.”

Kotaro’s shoulders slumped dejectedly and let him go. Absently, he smoothed out Koushi’s shirt, his eyes never lifting, “I’m going to chalk this up to your idiocy, Koushi, and forget that you even had the audacity to say such a thing.” A knock at the door broke the spell and Kotaro chuckled lightly, “One day, you’ll see the error of your way, Koushi. You’ll see that surviving is not as hard as you think. Succumbing is far worst.”

And with that, Kotaro left him to answer the door.

With Kotaro gone, Koushi deflated, his eyes landing on the shattered plate. He was as broken as the dish but even in such a conflicted moment, he recognized what Bokuto was trying to do. There was truth in his words but that truth didn’t ring for Koushi. What was most important to him was unattainable, his heart lost to the unreachable horizon of eternity.

Kotaro was wrong.

Surviving would be the death of him. And he’d welcome it with open arms.

 

**_12pm_ **

It was a serene ceremony, all of his colleagues, his friends, had shown up, all of them with watery smiles and soft words of condolences. Tooru watched as they approached the dais to light the incense and bow, showing their respect and then doing the same to him as they continued on, the silence only broken by intermittent sniffles and quiet mumblings. Tooru kept his eyes on the magnificent portrait of Hajime, only averting them to receive the numerous mourners that filed behind him. He stared at the way his husband’s eyes always seemed to be smiling at him, even in chastisement, always grinning for him as if he were the only one in on the joke.

Tooru’s lips spread in a small smile, a tuft of air escaping his lungs.  He was always doing something to provoke the ever stoic Hajime into smiling, even in their worst moments. In the middle of a fight or just chilling on the couch, there were too many times to count in where Hajime would gift him with his most prized possession. And all it took was for Tooru to be himself.

“Oh Hajime,” Tooru whispered brokenly as he lowered his head. He swiped at the escaping tears, fighting back the bone crushing sobs that were clawing to surface. There were still a great many that had come to offer their condolences and although he wasn’t really keeping track, he knew that the steady stream of people meant he’d be there for hours more.

Oh how he wanted to just get up and walk away, to leave all of this pomp and circumstance behind. How he wanted to forget that the body that sat on the dais, laden with a few of his possessions and clad in a ceremonial kimono was no longer the man he’d married. He wanted to forget how alone they’d been when they’d taken the next step, how Hajime’s parents disowned him for choosing to love his best friend. He wanted to forget the darkest moments in where he didn’t know if their love would survive.

He just wanted to forget.

But that wouldn’t be fair to Hajime. He deserved the memories, both good and bad, deserved to be remembered as a man who stood and fought in what he believed in, a man who stood and fought for him.

As much as he wanted to forget, he couldn’t.

And so he remembered as the steady stream of murmured apologies and bows continued, he remembered.

The tears continued to fall without hesitation.

 

*~*~*~*~*

_“You know, this would probably go a lot smoother if you just read the instructions, Daichi.”_

_Koushi cut his narrowed eyes to his lover, watching as Daichi frowned and shook his head, making to get up from their little nest littered with screws, paper, and a discarded box. He huffed as he reached for the instructions only for them to be quickly snatched out of his hand, followed by an exasperated sigh. Koushi fought to swallow his laughter as he reclined against the couch, listening to Daichi mumble the instructions underneath his breath. He glanced quickly to see a thoroughly confused expression on his face and lost his battle, a hearty laugh erupting._

_“What’s so funny?” Daichi asked as he cast a stern eye toward him. He shook his head again and hit the sheet of paper lightly, “I can’t make heads or tails of this, Kou. It would be easier if we just dove in. You know how good I am with my hands. This wouldn’t take long at all.”_

_Koushi chuckled and reached to take the instructions, flipping them around, “I’m leaving that one alone, Daichi. But it would help if you read the instructions in a language you could read.”_

_“Hardy, har, har,” Daichi mused irritably, “I knew it was upside down.”_

_“Yeah, and sale me another tree,” Koushi responded with a snicker. He moved to face Daichi, moving the man’s hands away and entering his space, settling within the cradle of his legs. The close proximity was enticing as was the distinct scent that only Daichi could hold, luring him into a complacent sense of comfort and muted passion. He licked his lips and advanced, giving him a succession of quick pecks, only to be ensnared by Daichi’s firm lips. Koushi’s pulse jumped as the kiss intensified, Daichi’s tongue tracing along his parted lips, seeking entry._

_Koushi gasped and drew away slowly, catching Daichi’s questioning eyes._

_“We’ll never get this done if we go there, Dai,” he answered breathlessly. Daichi wrapped his arms around his body and Koushi felt him sag against him, his breathing labored. Panic gripped him for a second before he let it go, encircling his own arms around Daichi’s neck.  He pressed a kiss to the column of his neck, whispering, “Promises…”_

_“Are the beats of our hearts,” Daichi finished softly. A small laugh filled the air and Koushi smiled against him as they both tightened their grip around each other, savoring the warmth that flowed between them._

_The desk could wait…_

Koushi grasped at his chest as a hollow sob escaped his lips. He couldn’t bear to look up at the portrait Daichi’s mother had chosen, accosted by the glimmer of genuine happiness that stared back at him. Even though the disease had stolen most of his life, Daichi had lived it on his terms, refusing to allow death or fear to dictate his next breath. It was that exuberance that stubborn tenacity that attracted him to Daichi and kept him tethered even in the worst of times. It was what kept him from spiraling even further as the disease ran rampant in its effort to claim every second. It was seeing that beautiful boldness snuffed out as Daichi breathed his last that completely shattered him. He bowed his head deeply, keenly aware of Bokuto’s arm slung over his back in an effort to calm him.

“Easy, Kou, easy,” Bokuto offered softly. He held him tightly against him, something Koushi was grateful for. Tucked within Bokuto’s strong embrace, Koushi didn’t have to feel, to see, to hear. Surrounded by darkness and warmth, the ache eased slightly, allowing his exhausted mind a sort of respite from the never ending cycle of pain.

Koushi took a deep breath and exhaled shakily, aware that he couldn’t hide for long.  There was still yet more to endure before he could completely forget the world he’d once inhabited.

 

*~*~*~*~*

Tooru dabbed at his eyes as he stood at the entrance to the temple, failing to notice the bustle of the city, the cacophony of horns, engines, and people as they went about their business barely registering. He glanced at the tall building that seemed right at home in the middle of the city, it’s modern, yet welcoming façade no different from the surrounding buildings of a burgeoning city. He’d heard of this new trend of burying the dead outside of family temples and was briefly intrigued, especially since family discord and conflict had made burying each other in their ancestral cemeteries impossible.  With this new option it was convenient and far away from the painful memories that had colored their young marriage. Besides, he’d get just as much of the soothing, meditative silence that he needed without the extra hassle of paying to maintain a plot.

 But that was neither here nor there; they were years away from having to decide on how to plan out the end of their lives.

Or so he had thought.

Tooru’s eyes watered as he waited for Kentaro, grasping at the cold urn that had been placed in his trembling hands an hour before. It was striking even in its simplicity and severity; the black porcelain contrasting beautifully with the simple gold trim that ringed the top and bottom of the urn as well the golden etchings that spelled out his family name. Simplicity was always one of Hajime’s best ideals and giving him what Tooru thought he’d wanted gave him a semblance of peace.

Tooru shuddered and reached to swipe at his eyes once more. Only minutes separated him from the end of this terrible ordeal but also opened the door into a more terrifying existence. He tried not to think about the hollow silence that would greet him when he got home, how utterly cold and desolate their space would be without the warmth of his awaiting aura. As ready as he was to be done with all of this, he couldn’t quite bring himself to acknowledge the fear of the approaching loneliness –or the fact that he knew that he would go insane inside an hour without anything to distract him from his grief.

“The priest is ready.”

It wasn’t surprising that Kentaro had stuck around; he and Hajime had been partners and good friends, kindred spirits even. They’d spent as much time with each other as normal brothers would, constantly challenging each other, fighting like cats and dogs, and commiserating with a cold beer and uproarious laughter. Tooru likened them to a small family of sorts and Kentaro, in all of his obstinacy didn’t endeavor to disabuse him of that notion. Although Kentaro’s normal disposition was cold and standoffish, he could tell that losing Hajime had affected him more than anything else.  Of course, the younger man would never admit to his compromised emotions, instead, he remained the silent foundation that wouldn’t allow him to weather this alone.

Kentaro’s quiet voice startled him, a stiff shudder passing through his body. Tooru glanced up at Hajime’s partner and attempted a graceful smile. He merely nodded, his own stern lips slipping into a faint grin as he gestured forward. Tooru sighed heavily and turned toward the priest waiting just inside of the skyscraper graveyard.

Tooru caught Kentaro’s glance as they moved in tandem, the apprehension blazing in the younger man’s eyes. He barely missed a group of men who exited the building, many of them distracted by a silver haired gentleman. Their hushed assurances lingered in the air as they passed him, the muffled sniffles increasing with every step. Tooru stared after them, taking note of obvious sorrow of the man’s distant gaze. He could relate, in a matter of minutes, nothing would matter. It would be over and then he would have to start over.  

As they passed through the door, Tooru knew that starting over would be just as hard as facing the end.

 

 

 

 


End file.
